Samantha Wolf-Iverson — Point of View
Samantha didn’t bother sitting. She set her laptop on the small consultation table, flipped it open, and turned the screen toward Eliza and Elijah. Her hands were steady. Her voice was not. “I need you both to see this.”
Elijah crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. Eliza stood beside Samantha, posture tight, eyes sharp. The hum of the clinic hallway seeped under the door: nurses moving, machines beeping, the world continuing as if everything hadn’t just changed.
Samantha clicked the first file. A list of names filled the screen — color‑coded, cross‑referenced, meticulously maintained. “My database tracks missing Indigenous youth across multiple reservations,” she said. “Forty‑two cases so far. I’ve been building it for seven years.”
Elijah nodded. “We know your work.”
Samantha swallowed. “I didn’t know enough.”
She typed into the search bar:
Northstar
One result appeared. Rayna Wolf. Her cousin.
Samantha’s voice tightened. “This was the first time I ever saw the name. Seven years ago. A temporary land‑use permit filed by a company called NorthStar Resource Management.”
Eliza leaned closer. “The same name, Aiyana, said.”
“Yes,” Samantha said. “And they also tied that same name to Rayna’s disappearance.”
She clicked the permit. A scanned PDF filled the screen — grainy, faded, but legible.
“Filed eleven days before Rayna vanished,” Samantha said. “Dissolved three weeks later. No employees listed. There are no assets. No forwarding address.”
Elijah frowned. “Shell company.”
“Exactly,” Samantha said. “But here’s the part I missed.”
She opened a second tab, a list of corporate dissolution records. Dozens of entries. All variations of the same name.
- NorthStar Resource Management
- NorthStar Environmental
- NorthStar Logistics
- NorthStar Holdings
- NorthStar Field Services
Filed. Operated briefly. Dissolved. Disappeared. Eliza’s breath caught. “They’ve been doing this for years.”
“Yes,” Samantha said. “And always in the same pattern.”
She clicked again. A map appeared — pins scattered across Montana, North Dakota, and the borderlands. “These are the locations where NorthStar entities filed temporary permits,” Samantha said. “Logging access. Survey work. Environmental sampling. It was always something innocuous.”
Elijah stepped closer. “And these pins line up with missing‑person cases.”
Samantha nodded. “Not all of them. But enough.”
She zoomed in. Three pins glowed brighter. Black Rock. Boundary Ridge. Red Rock Flats. Eliza whispered, “All three of our reservations.”
Samantha clicked the last file — the one she had hesitated to open. A timeline appeared. Seven years ago, Rayna Wolf disappeared. Six years ago — a boy from Boundary Ridge. Four years ago, a girl from Black Rock. Two years ago, another from Red Rock Flats. Three months ago — Aiyana Red Elk. Each disappearance aligned with a NorthStar filing. Each filing dissolved shortly thereafter.
Samantha’s voice was barely audible. “They move in cycles. They set up, operate for a few weeks, then vanish. And every time they appear, someone goes missing.”
Elijah’s jaw tightened. “And Aiyana survived.”
“Yes,” Samantha said. “And she said the name. She broke the pattern.”
Eliza exhaled slowly, her mind already racing. It’s not random. This isn’t opportunistic. The organization is clear.
Samantha nodded. “And it’s bigger than any of us.”
Elijah looked at the map again — the pins, the lines, the pattern that had been hiding in plain sight. “Who else knows about this?” he asked.
Samantha hesitated. “Marianne Keeshig and Leah Gagnon. They’re coming from the Canadian side. Leah found something, too.”
Eliza’s eyes sharpened. “What did she find?”
Samantha closed the laptop gently. “She found a route map,” she said. “With waypoints.”
Elijah straightened. “Waypoints?”
“Yes,” Samantha said. “Leah stated that one of them has the label BR-7.”
Eliza froze. “Boundary Ridge.”
Samantha nodded. “And the color code for that waypoint,” she said quietly, “is blue.”
The room fell silent. Not with confusion. Not with disbelief. With understanding. Elijah spoke first, voice low. “Evan’s at the blue house right now.”
Eliza’s pulse kicked. “We need to call him.”
Samantha closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself. “This isn’t just a pattern,” she said. “It’s a system.”
“And it’s still running.”
###
Evan Blackhorse — Point of View
Evan Blackhorse drove toward Red Rock Flats with the heater blasting and the evidence bag sitting on the passenger seat like a fragile truth he wasn’t ready to say out loud. He didn’t enjoy leaving the blue house behind. Every instinct told him to stay, to watch, to wait for whoever had been there to return. But this wasn’t a Boundary Ridge problem anymore. Not after what Aiyana had said. Not after what he’d seen.
He crossed onto Red Rock Flats land; the prairie stretching wide and empty under a pale winter sky. The clinic came into view — small, sturdy, familiar — and he pulled into the lot. He grabbed the evidence bag and headed inside.
###
Eliza Morningstar — Point of View
Eliza heard the footsteps before she saw him — steady, deliberate, the sound of someone carrying news that mattered. Evan stepped into the consultation room, snow melting on his jacket, eyes sharp. “Eliza, Elijah, Samantha.” He nodded to each of them, then held up the evidence bag. “I found this.”
Eliza took it carefully. Inside was a scrap of blue fabric, torn and frayed. “Where?” she asked.
“Back porch,” Evan said. “Caught on a nail.”
Elijah stepped closer. “Fresh?”
“Fresh enough,” Evan said. “And there’s more.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a second evidence bag — this one containing a small metal vent cover.
Samantha frowned. “What’s that?”
“New installation,” Evan said. “And there’s a hum coming from inside the house. Something running.”
Eliza’s stomach tightened. “A filtration unit?”
“Maybe,” Evan said. “Or something else. But the smell inside? Bleach. Too much bleach.”
Elijah swore under his breath.
###
Samantha Wolf-Iverson — Point of View
Samantha had her database—and the pattern she had found. She opened her laptop again, pulling up the entry she’d shown Eliza and Elijah earlier.
“Evan,” she said, “I need you to see this.”
He stepped closer.
“This is the only match I found when I searched for ‘NorthStar.’ A land‑use permit filed seven years ago. Dissolved three weeks later.”
Evan scanned the screen. “Rayna Wolf.”
Samantha nodded. “My cousin.”
Elijah leaned in. “And the company name matches what Aiyana said.”
“Yes,” Samantha said. “But that’s all we have right now. No maps. There are no routes available. No cross‑border files. Just this pattern.”
Evan looked at the screen, then at the evidence bag in Eliza’s hand.
“They’re connected,” he mumbled. “Even without the rest.”
Eliza nodded. “We need to treat this as organized.”
Elijah crossed his arms. “And active.”
###
Elijah Greyhawk — Point of View
He looked at Evan. “Tell us everything you saw.”
Evan took a breath. “Two sets of tracks,” he said. “One heavy, one light. Both recent. The lighter set stops abruptly.”
“Stops?” Eliza asked.
“Like someone lifted the person,” Evan said. “No drag marks. No struggle. Just gone.”
Samantha closed her eyes. Elijah felt something cold settle in his chest.
“And the house?” he asked.
“Locked,” Evan said. “Too clean. Bleach everywhere. New vent. Something running inside.”
Eliza’s voice was low. “A holding space.”
Evan didn’t argue.
###
Eliza Morningstar — Point of View
She looked at all three of them — Evan, Elijah, Samantha — and felt the shift in the room. This wasn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t a runaway. It was not a single crime. This was a system. And it was still operating. She straightened. “Marianne Keeshig and Leah Gagnon are on their way from the Canadian side. They haven’t sent files yet, but they have information.”
Evan nodded. “Good. Because whatever’s happening out there? It’s not done.”
Elijah looked at the evidence bag — the scrap of blue fabric, the only physical trace of a girl who had survived something unspeakable.
“We move fast,” he said. “Before they do.”
Samantha closed her laptop with a soft click. “Before they disappear again.”